A series of a Hero
by Smushbush
Summary: Based in the land of Albion, an unfortunate crossing of paths brings a hero in contact with two aspirations. The kingdom of Albion shall be enlightened by its new found glory, or struck down by its infamous demon.


_**Fable**__** Fan Fiction **_

_**Fable**__** Fan Fiction**_

_**One**_

…..as he walked out from the cave, he could see a strange purple light shading the night sky. Not only was the light offering easier vision, it also seemed to create a glow around his head. Concerned with fact that his head looked like a beetroot, the hero went back into the cave. It slowly diminished and it curbed his curiosity. Tiredness washed over him as he lay down.

As the transition of night into day came, he gathered his bearings. Picking up all of his gear which was laid out from the night before was the first thing on his heavily populated mental list. As he flipped the homemade bag onto his back, he started to stride purposefully out passed the confines of the cave opening. The heavy stench of moss and rotting leaves that had been blown into the cave were happily left there.

Although the hero was a well seasoned soldier, he was still cautious as he progressed through the dimly lit forest floor. Having served his time helping out the Bowerstone Guards, he was prepared for the bandits that sometimes search these paths, hoping for easy prey. However this was not the only foe that he had come across. These fiends that he had fought would make bandits seem like butterflies, which would happily fly away at the smallest sight of these. Mental pictures flooded the hero's mind, almost enough to make him want to sit down. However, the mental fortitude in which he had built up over the past few years served its purpose once more.

The hero was known as "The Vanguard". Everywhere he went he could hear the whispers carry the name. They sometimes became louder when a member of the congregation had seen him before, or had more likely seen his wrath in play against bandits. Although he was referenced as '_The Vanguard_' in scrolls and tomes, it was not his real name. The hero's real name was Volin. He hailed from the west, leaving at a young age on an adventure that only he could have thought up. Had he known he was a blood relation of a late Hero from the flooded town of Oakvale, he probably would have left years before. After all, he was only twenty-two. Volins' face told a different story however. The jagged scars which almost covered his face were symbols of battle. Ones that he had easily won, and ones that he narrowly escaped. The latter leaving the deepest scars evidently. His facial features were not strikingly handsome, although it was his aura that attracted the stare of the ladies, sometimes the men too. A shroud of mystery kept them on their toes, feeling like he could almost be hiding every secret he had under his rugged leather armour. And that's as close as one could get to the correct answer. Years upon years of being alone warped Volin into almost a machine, which was quite fitting as he was once a worker in the industrial part of Bowerstone. His personality was kept locked up inside him. When he had time to spare on his journeys, he would sit silently against the stump of a tree or dangle his legs off a cliff, as a child would do if there was water present. Maybe he just wanted to be a child again, and live his dream as a dream, and nothing else. Not leaving his friends or family. 'My family' he thought, stopping and pondering the two words that had become a different tongue almost.

Stepping lightly over the autumn leaves, Volin stalked his meal. Yes, he was a hero, but how was he to serve as a purposeful one if they had no energy? A deer would be his reward. Slowly and steadily, he raised his crossbow. He drew his eye in line with the deer and the tip of the bolt. His finger slowly squeezed the trigger, but off to the left his peripheral vision picked up something. Something dark skinned, or furred. It stared with slanted eyes, almost trying to immobilise him through shear terror. This may have worked on mangy bandits, but Volin quickly adjusted himself and fired the bolt. A loud howl came from the creature immediately after the bolt left its hold. The hero then realised that it was not the only one. He could hear the branches being stepped on and broken, along with his every increasing heart rate pounding in his ear. The presence could be felt closing in on him. "Bloody balverines" he chuckled, showing how competent he was in the matter. Out of nowhere, a white dash came down from the sky. Volin swallowed hard and set his jaw. A sly grin came across his face, delighted that he would be offered a challenge. He had never killed a white balverine before. He had come close, but it had always retreated, leaving its black counterparts as cannon fodder. And that's what they literally became. Volin preferred his flintlock rifle. It had been given to him by a sailor's ghost who he met when walking along a beach in Oakvale. A bitter ghost it was, yet the spirit held up his end of the deal. "A white one too? It's really not my day is it" he murmured, almost trying to pretend that he would not be fighting such a beast.

On completing that sentence of reassurance, he slipped a small knife out of his side pockets, flinging it towards one of the lesser creatures. It staggered back, letting out a fearsome shriek which would have awoken anything in the forest. A swipe came from his right side, which he evaded easily, letting his dagger cut right across the black balverines chest. This did not stop the fearsome beast, and it kept swinging, providing difficult for Volin to adjust to the dexterity of the strikes. The hero's stamina was diminishing quickly, as he hadn't eaten in three days, and he felt the fight drifting in the balverines favour. Suddenly, a flash of light came across the field of battle, leaving scorched trees and dried leaves on fire. Volin didn't know where it came from, but as it was attacking his enemy, he was relieved and was spurred on to fight. He lashed out with his dagger, catching the throat of a now timid black balverine. It fell to the floor, squirming as it oozed its black blood. As soon as this happened, the white predator stopped. His stare penetrated the Hero's armour causing him to wince in pain. A fork of lightening was cast down from the ominous clouds, perhaps by nature, but coincidentally hitting the white giant. It made him twitch, contracting its vividly clear muscles and stretching its tendants. It fell to one knee, not yet depleted of its power. It stood up, and against all odds, came charging straight at Volin. He rolled to the left, dodging the beasts' powerful blow. And let his dagger run through the predators left arm. It squealed, almost like a child would when its doll was taken away from it. Yet this was not enough to slow it. It bounded at him again, swinging ferociously at the hero's head. He propped his dagger pointing up in the ground, and the balverine landed with a squelch and a howl. It struggled to get off, but the hero jumped and stretched his arm to keep it in place. Once he got a grip, he twisted the hilt and it scrapped along the creatures' bones, causing it to slowly slide down the dagger, motionless. The sweat dripped from Volins' brow onto his blood covered hands. He was relieved.

_**Two**_

_The two of them left the passage through the trees to come out into the glade. They looked at Volin, his eyes squinting to meet their gaze. James nodded at his partner to take his aim away from the hero, and he did this without hesitation, sliding the rifle around his waist to where it held itself perfectly. They shifted towards the fatigued warrior, cautious of their surroundings as they had not dispatched all of the balverines. They looked down on him, but with respect in their eyes. They knew what they had found. What they had been searching for all this time. A hero. However the circumstance seemed strange and James let out a dumbfounded breath of air. 'They' had just saved a hero from almost certain death. They thought heroes could fight off anything without much effort. It seemed like their spirits had been crushed to think that if they had not been where they were, another hero of Albion would have fallen in battle. Thomas knelt down to show the hero that they were not going to hurt him. After all, it was their magic that dispersed the horde of balverines. Confusion was painted on the face of the hero, yet as he stood up he was grateful. "Thomas is my name, along with my trusty comrade James and his god forsaken dog Poxy" Thomas said, smiling as he introduced the now embarrassed James. "Can you believe that people actually think dogs are related to balverines? James stated, trailing off as he thought the subject a touchy one. He was probably right too._


End file.
